


Can't you Spare A Day For The Weeping?

by thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes



Series: Non-Linear Stories of Wanderer [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Funeral Bell - Phildel (Song), Moving On, Other, Tourette's Syndrome, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 03:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16653556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes/pseuds/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes
Summary: "I can pray but it won't stop you leaving."





	Can't you Spare A Day For The Weeping?

 "You don't have to come if you don't want to, you know."  
  
Wanderer plays with their hands nervously, looking down at the shorter man. Theit eyes are filled with anxiety, a rare sight, though a sight that Deacon has come to know well.  
  
"I know."  
  
They sheepishly smile and offers one of their small, soft hands to Deacon, who takes it with a comforting smile. Then there is a blinding flash of blue as everything gets deafeningly loud and scary silent all at once. Within seconds, they find themselves surrounded by bright lights and white walls. Deacon looks around curiously, noting the stares he is getting, some worried, some annoyed. But it doesn't matter- he's not here for them, he's here for Wanderer.

* * *

 The funeral service is uncomfortable, and no one cries, all of them far too aware of their company to do so. Alie gives Wanderer an understanding look as the scirentists and synths file out of the room, leaving Deacon and the new Director alone in the dark room.  Wanderer chirps and twitches more than usual as they walk closer to the ornate little urn on the pedestal in the center of the room. A picture of the man himself is hung on the wall behind it, and Wanderer looks up at the image, and finally lets their tears fall. Deacon stays watching them, allowing them this moment, despite how out of place he feels.  
  
"Oh mother, I’m scared to die.  
Where, where do my good deeds lie?  
Oh father, I’m scared to live,  
Takes more than I’ve got to give.  
Oh sister, my voice is weak.  
Oh brother, I long for sleep.  
Oh hunger, I know you well  
My cruel friend is a funeral bell."  
  
Wanderer's voice starts as a hoarse whisper, then they cough and continue. The sound is shaky and thick from the lump in their throat. There's Something about the way the dim lights wrap around their wide frame that is strangely beautiful, in its own, melancholic way.  
  
"And it rings in the day and it rings in the evening.  
Oh, I could pray but it won’t stop you leaving.  
Shadow in black, you are grim from your reaping.  
Oh, can’t you spare just a day for the weeping?"  
  
Deacon likes to think he knows what loss feels like, but when he sees such a raw, emotional sight such as this- he realises just how little he knows. He wonders what it feels like, to have your own flesh and blood torn from your lovers grasp right before your eyes. What it feels like to search high and low, only for that flesh and blood to slip right through your fingers the moment you find it, like sand throufh a child's grasp.  
  
"Oh lover, I know you’re there  
And I’d follow you anywhere.  
Oh, give me a hand to hold  
So that I may face the cold."  
  
Deacon walks over to stand next to them, and their hand immediately seeks out his, finding solace in the rough skin of his palm. Deacon peaks at them out of the corner of his eye, and sees the tears staining their cheeks shining in the light illuminating the portrait before them. He feels like he's intruding, seeing something he isn't meant to see, but when Wanderer's grip on his hand tightens, he knows they want him there.  
  
"‘Cause it rings in the day and it rings in the evening.  
Oh, I could pray but it won’t stop you leaving.  
Shadow in black, you are grim from your reaping.  
Oh, can’t you spare just a day for the weeping?"  
  
Wanderer leans onto their right foot in order to lean their head upon Deacon's, the scruff of his growing hair ticking their cheek. As Deacon listens to Wanderer's strained voice, he feels their grip loosen, until their hand falls away entirely. He turns to look at them, only to be met by their gaze and watery smile. They grab his hands and sing to him.  
  
"‘Cause it rings in the day and it rings in the evening.  
Oh, I could pray but it won’t stop you leaving.  
Shadow in black, you are grim from your reaping.  
Oh, can’t you spare just a day for the weeping?  
Oh, can’t you spare just a day for the weeping?"  
  
Deacon smiles back, and he thinks that this might just be the first step in moving on- for both of them.


End file.
